The End
by quietthinker
Summary: Sometimes life is too much to handle. Oneshot.


Disclaimer: I do not own Jimmy Neutron or any related characters.

The emptiness quickly enveloped Jimmy's body again as he woke up and hopped out of bed. He leaned against the wall, staring at the clock. He watched as the hands of the clock started their journey around the timepiece. As the seconds flew by, then minutes, it simply became a blur. Just like they had every day.

He ran a hand through his disheveled hair and sighed. His pride and joy, his famous ice-cream cone hairdo, had melted like the object he had envisioned it to be on a hot summer day. It now lay in a flat lump.

He continued on his journey, the one that he had done over and over again, every day since he could remember. He trudged to the bathroom and opened the door to his shower. He turned the knob slightly past the halfway mark between hot and cold. He bent down and pulled the lever on the faucet. The water switched from flowing from the faucet to flowing from the showerhead.

He bent his head down, growing tired of watching the drops of water hit the floor. He pulled off his sweatpants and lightly tossed them across the room. He slowly grabbed the collar of his T-shirt and took it off. He stood on foot and pulled off his boxers, one leg at a time.

Leaving them on the floor, he stepped inside the shower. For a moment, he felt a tingle of happiness as the warm water flowed over his hair and face, but the familiar emptiness soon overcame him again.

He grabbed the bar of soap and ran it across his body. Arms, shoulders, waist, back, legs, feet. He rinsed and repeated this cycle. He grabbed a bottle of his shampoo and poured some onto his hands.

He rubbed the thick liquid until white suds overcame his hands. He rubbed it in his hair for a moment and bent forward. He watched the soapy water flow down his head and face, ignoring the stinging in his eyes. What did it matter? He was used to pain by now.

He stepped out of the shower and dried off with a towel lying across the toilet. He placed it gently on the floor and rubbed some steam off of the mirror. He looked at his sunken face in the mirror.

He remembered how, years ago, his blue eyes had lit up when he jumped out of bed in the morning. How he couldn't wait to begin a new day in his glorious life. Build a new invention, hang out with Sheen or Carl, start a fight with Cindy.

He shook these thoughts out of his head as he walked back into his room. He picked out some random clothes from his closet and threw them on. Glancing at his backpack lying near his bed, he sighed. He walked over to it and slung it over his shoulder.

He walked out his bedroom door and down the stairs. He watched as his feet went down the stairs. Rising and falling. Rising and falling. Over and over again. Just like his emotions used to. Now they never rose or fall. Just...were there.

He walked out the door without eating. He knew that having breakfast wouldn't matter. Especially not today, of all days. He knew he was late, he didn't care. He saw the yellow bus pull away as he stepped out the door. Without a second thought, he closed the door behind him and set off on the walk to the high school. Three miles away.

Halfway there, he shifted his stare from the ground to the park he was passing. He could hear children laughing in the distance. He slowed his pace and looked at the children. Sliding down slides, playing in the sandbox, swinging. How long had it been since he had done those things?

He was about to turn away when a child pointed at him. He stopped walking and stared back at him. The kid was about twenty yards away. He pointed from Jimmy to the ground. Jimmy looked down and saw a red ball. He looked back at the kid, who pointed again. Jimmy kept walking.

He held out his arm and pushed open the door to the high school. He flashed his school ID to the secretary, knowing he had to show he was a student since he was late. He walked down the hallway, glancing at the lockers. One locker door swung in the breeze that opening the front door had created. Jimmy noticed the locker was empty. His frown deepened as he continued down the hall.

He climbed the stairs and stared down at his feet. Rise, fall. Rise, fall. Rise, fall. The world around him disappeared, he could only stare at the rhythmic rising and falling of his feet.

He swung the door open to his classroom. Ignoring the teacher's reprimands, he took a seat next to Cindy. She cast him a worried glance. Jimmy just took out a pen and notebook and continued working on something.

Bells. The rest of the day was just a series of bells to Jimmy. Bells to begin class and bells to end them. Lunch bells, locker bells, everything was just a loud ringing. He stopped by his locker after the final bell rang.

He watched as his hand spun the dial on the lock. He didn't even have to think about doing it, he knew the numbers by heart. 12, 34, 23. He heard the faint _click_ as the device worked. He opened his locker and threw his backpack inside. He didn't need it anymore.

He began the long walk home, the notebook from his first class the only thing with him. He could hear the laughter of his fellow students, the cheers of another day being over. A few waved to him, but he just continued walking.

He opened the front door to his house and stepped inside. He swung the door shot behind him, heard the faint murmur of the door slamming back into place. He slowly trudged up the stairs, ignoring the burning pain in his legs.

He closed the door to his room after entering it. He stared at the cleanliness of it, his mother must have cleaned it for him. His mother had always been like that. Cleaning. Like it really mattered in the long run.

He sat down at his desk and opened the notebook. He flipped past the various math equations to the center of the book. He looked over what he had written so far, expecting a tear to fall down his cheek. He wasn't surprised when none came, they hadn't come in a long time.

He sadly opened the drawer in his desk and took out a pen. He heard the soft _click_ as he pressed a button and the point came out. He put it down to the paper and slowly moved it. He watched the black ink spread across the lines, watched the ink turn into letters, then words, then sentences.

He signed his name and clicked the pen again. He watched the point quickly retract back into the metal shell. He gently placed the pen back in his drawer. He looked over his paper before standing up.

He pushed in his chair and walked over to the small table beside his bed. He pulled a key out of his pocket. He sniffed a little as he unlocked the drawer in the table, but still no tears came. He pulled a box out of the drawer.

He sat on his perfectly made bed and put both hands on the box. He had no fear, no worries. He hadn't felt anything in a while. Although in the back of his mind, deep down, he felt sorry he would stain the perfectly made bed.

He opened the box and stared down at the item inside. He clasped his right hand around it, felt the cold steel pressed against his palm. He stroked it for a moment before pulling it out.

He placed it on the bed and closed the box. He laid the key on top of the box and placed them both on his pillow. He wrapped his hand around the item that lay next to him. He was about to lift it up when he heard a _clink_ against his window. And then another. And another.

He placed the thing back down on his bed and strolled over to the window. He opened the blinds and looked down. Cindy was tossing rocks against it. He was a little surprised to see that it was dark outside now.

He opened the window and stared down at her, his eyes cold and serious. She asked him to come down. He sadly shook his head. She said that she needed him. He thought for a moment and asked her for what.

Cindy told him she needed his help on homework. Jimmy thought for another moment. "No," he said. It was too late. Too dark.

Cindy glared at him for a moment. She spun around. "Fine, Nerdtron. Drop dead."

Jimmy watched her walk away. He slowly closed the window and dropped the blinds. He thought of her words. Words used so simply, so many times. But this time was different.

He made his way back to the bed and stared at the gun. He sat back down and lifted it up, but with more certainty. He placed it to his head and sighed. And pulled the trigger.

Author's Note: If you or a friend are feeling suicidal, please do not end it this way. It _will_ get better. You just have to give it a chance to. If you can't handle it alone and have no one to talk to, call 1-800-SUICIDE. Just don't give up.


End file.
